


The Flames Will Set Us Free

by Aki (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, M/M, Memories, Mind Control, Prompt: Bloody Hands, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Aki
Summary: Flames danced around his feet, launching him forward, and he felt rather than saw Fushimi’s blades cutting through where he’d been a second before. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to, heart leaping into his throat as he heard Fushimi’s footsteps following him, feeling a pang at the relentless pursuit. There was no playing, no game of cat or mouse like there usually was in their encounters, just a focused, single-minded hunter closing in on his prey.





	The Flames Will Set Us Free

 

_“One day, you’re going to get yourself killed because of HOMRA, and I don’t want to be there to see it happen.”_

    It had been a long time since Yata had thought back to that conversation, and those raw, aching words that had been his first real hint that something was wrong Fushimi. Looking back, he knew that there had been other signs – snappish words and dark stares – that he had missed, but that was the first one that had stuck, and at the time he hadn’t had a reply. Part of him had wanted to scoff that he wasn’t going to get himself killed, although the argument would have been weak considering they’d been sat in the bar while Kusanagi patched him up after yet another fight that he’d rushed headfirst into. The other part had wanted to reach out, to promise that he wasn’t going anywhere as long as Fushimi was there, a spark of fear rising in his chest as he realised that there was a weight behind those words, a heaviness that he didn’t understand.

    That he hadn’t understood until a few weeks later when they’d stood in the alley facing one another, the once easy understanding between them having given way to anger. He’d forgotten those words, and the fear in Saru’s voice as he’d said them too caught up his fury. Preferring anger over the panic rising in his chest, the lump that had risen in his voice as he’d realised that Fushimi wasn’t joking or threatening to leave, but that he had already made his choice, that he had walked away from their King. Their Clan. That he had walked away from him. _I don’t want to be there to see it happen,_ the words had been there, but he had paid them no heed, lashing out with angry words and angrier fists, flames leaping high as he tried to protect himself from the pain of losing Fushimi. And Saruhiko had responded in kind. Only his anger had run cold, his actions meant to hurt, a different type of protection, burning the bridges between them as he dragged flaming fingers over the mark that had linked them.

    It had been later, as he sat huddled in the alleyway long after Fushimi had walked away, that he had calmed enough to remember that conversation. To understand that he had been warned, but that he hadn’t listened, or understood what Fushimi was trying to say. It didn’t ease the hurt or quell his anger that Fushimi had gone so far, but it tempered it. Leaving him aching, hands clenched in his lap, as he wondered if he had just understood a little sooner if all of this could have been prevented.

****

     It was ironic that it would come to him now, he thought with no small amount of bitterness as he stumbled back as a sword, glistening with the light of the blue clan cleaved through the air a scant inch from his chest. He had only been out here in the first place after reports of another gang trying to cause some trouble at the edge of HOMRA’s territory, testing their defences, only to run into Fushimi, who could no sooner resist taunting him, than Yata could quench the part of him that would always belong to his clan. However, that argument was long forgotten now as he kept half an eye on the blade, knowing how quickly it’s owner could move it, a deep cut on his arm burning fiercely in testament to that, as he lifted his head and met eerily empty blue eyes.

“Saruhiko…” There was nothing. No anger, or mocking light that would usually greet his presence, and worse there was no recognition as Fushimi stepped back, steadying himself, before lunging forwards once more. He twisted out of the path of the blade, using a quick burst of flame to spin his skateboard up into the air just in time to block the dagger that had come at him in the wake of the first strike. “Damn it, Saruhiko, wake up!” He shouted, already knowing that his words wouldn’t be enough, even before dark eyes flashed and Fushimi pressed the attack, both blades like quicksilver in his hands, and it took everything Yata had to stop them breaking through his defences even as he was driven steadily backwards.

    His mind was racing, even as his eyes flickered around the empty playground, trying to catch a glimpse of the Strain that had caused this situation as he parried the attacks to the best of his ability. However, he was already at a disadvantage, as he didn’t want to hurt the Blue – he never had, not really, but he could usually bluff it – whereas today he was acutely aware that this wasn’t Fushimi’s will, and that made him hesitant to do more than protect himself. Which wasn’t enough against his determined assailant, and the distraction of searching for the Strain cost him, a pained shout torn from his lips as the knife caught his shoulder, leaving a sickening fire in its wake. “SARU!” 

He had to do something.

   Flames flickered around his hands for a moment, reflected in the terrifyingly blank eyes, and he muttered a curse before lunging forward even as he pulled his red back beneath his skin. “Snap out of it,” he ground out between gritted teeth, swerving to the side as Fushimi moved to block his approach, ducking under the knife that came from the other sight, his shoulder burning from the movement. “I said… SNAP OUT OF IT!” He repeated, voice rising to a shout as he slammed his fist into the Blue’s face, hearing the crack of bone beneath the force of the blow as Fushimi staggered back. There was blood on his hand, and trickling from Fushimi’s nose, and it had to hurt, but there was no sign that he had even registered the blow, and for the first time since Saru had first come for him with a blade in hand, he felt real fear.

    This wasn’t something that he could burn away, because that would mean hurting Saruhiko. And words had never been his strong point, especially when it came to talking to the Blue, not that it mattered at the moment as whatever the Strain had done had built an insurmountable wall between them. He couldn’t talk to him, he wouldn’t fight him, which left him one choice, and bowing his head, one eye still on Fushimi as the Blue tensed, muscles bunching in preparation for another attack. “I’m going to get you back,” he muttered under his breath, hands clenching at his side as he sucked in a breath and bolted.

     Flames danced around his feet, launching him forward, and he felt rather than saw Fushimi’s blades cutting through where he’d been a second before. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to, heart leaping into his throat as he heard Fushimi’s footsteps following him, feeling a pang at the relentless pursuit. There was no playing, no game of cat or mouse like there usually was in their encounters, just a focused, single-minded hunter closing in on his prey. _Damn it, Saruhiko! Fight it!_ He thought, darting to the left as he heard Fushimi closing the distance between them, but he knew that wasn’t fair because he had seen the strain in the Blue’s expression as he desperately fought against the will overpowering his.

_“Misaki…” It hadn’t been the use of his first name, but rather the way that it was said that had alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. Fushimi never failed to drawl his name, taunting him with it, so to hear it choked out, desperate or rather frightened had shaken the vanguard. But not as much as the strangled plea that had followed. “Run.” The word had barely left Fushimi’s lips, before he’d stiffened, eyes going blank._

     _I should have listened to him,_ Yata thought, arm and shoulder throbbing in unison now. That felt like the story of his life right now, that old, half-forgotten conversation haunting him now. However, he knew that there was no way he could just have fled and abandoned Fushimi, he just wished that he’d wasted less time trying to get through to him because now he had the Blue on his heels as he searched for some sign of the Strain. And he knew that even if he found it, then it was going to be two on one, odds that he usually wouldn’t mind – but this was Saruhiko, and…

      He was tackled from behind, Fushimi barrelling into him from behind with a force that sent them both tumbling to the ground and for a terrifying moment Yata’s vision whited out. The Blue had landed on top of him, forcing the breath from his lungs, an elbow clipping the gash on his shoulder and making him cry out. Partially blind, and breathless he frantically tried to wiggle out from under Fushimi, but the Blue had recovered faster, moving to hold him in place as he managed to roll onto his back, trapped beneath him.

“Saru…” He wheezed, blinking as he desperately tried to clear his vision, and immediately wished that he hadn’t as the blurriness cleared enough for him to meet still empty eyes. Fushimi’s chin was streaked with blood, his nose swollen and clearly broken, but there was no sign that he was aware of it, and Yata could feel his eyes beginning to burn. “You said that you didn’t want to see me get myself killed because of HOMRA, if that’s true, then you need to stop this.” It was a desperate, last-ditch attempt. He knew that, and yet it didn’t stop the crushing disappointment when there was no reaction beyond a slight tightening of the legs holding him in place. “Saru, you…” Whatever he had been trying to say was lost as his entire world narrowed down to the white-hot pain radiating through his side, the words becoming a strangled noise, mouth opening and closing, as he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

    Some, distant part of his mind knew that this was bad, but it was hard to marshal any through beyond pain right now, and yet he had too because he could feel himself slipping. The white that had claimed his vision when he’d fallen giving way to shadow, and he knew that not only was he running out of time to rescue Saru but if he didn’t do something now, then they were both going to be lost. Digging deep, searching for the stubbornness that had made him growl out a refusal when Fushimi had told him to run earlier, he reached for his red. “I’m sorry,” he tried to say to the Blue staring down at him, oblivious to the damage he had done, or the despair driving Yata forwards but he wasn’t sure whether he managed to say the words aloud, a dull roaring filling his ears as he closed his eyes. “No blood, no bone, no ash…”

     His red blazed out around him, flames rushing outwards. He did his best to keep them away from Fushimi, not sure whether the red sanctum would protect the Blue enough to spare him, but it was hard to control them, pain pulsing through his side with each shaky breath and it was all he could do to keep fuelling the flames. _Further. FURTHER._ It was a mantra now, the only thing stopping him from sliding into the darkness and distracting him from the press of a blade against his throat as the Blue tried to make him stop. _Further._ He prayed that the Strain had stayed within range, whether from necessity to maintain control of Fushimi or to watch them come apart because otherwise all of this was going to be for nothing.

    The world around him was burning now, the heat of it strangely soothing against the chill that was seeping through him, spreading from the throbbing area in his side. _Please…_ He was fading now, the flames wild now as they whipped around them, and he was almost gone, clinging to consciousness by the skin of his teeth when he heard the distant shout of pain. He almost missed it, and he might have dismissed it, were it not for the fact that the blade pressed across his neck had just disappeared, a small relief in the grand scheme of things. And paling into the comparison to the broken, strangled whisper that reached his ears just before he lost the battle against unconsciousness.

“Misaki…”


End file.
